Worth My Soul and a Fiddle of Gold
by Enticingly
Summary: Part Two. Dean sold his soul to save Sam, and doesn't understand why Sam reacted this way. Wincest. Read the warnings before reading, please. I don't want to offend.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: **Slight bondage, anal. Wincest. Slightly modified version of 2.08 Crossroad Blues. The last conversation they had is in a motel room instead of the Impala.

This one's shorter than the others, but I think I'm pretty okay with how it came out. Could definitely be better. Let me know what you think. And as always, if you want to give me any sort of prompt for my next story, I'm always open to requests.

Enjoy.

* * *

"You never actually considered making that deal, right?"

What the Hell would Sam know? How the Hell was he supposed to understand? Of _course_ he did; it took everything he had to stop himself from doing it. Knowing that his dad sold his soul for him, that he was burning in Hell because of him, it tore at Dean in ways that words couldn't explain. The hole that formed inside him from his father's death grew to swallow him whole, and all that was left was drowning. Guilt, sorrow, anger, self hatred, the whole nine yards. What the Hell was Sam supposed to do about that?

"Dean?"

He spared his brother a glance from the crappy sci-fi flick that was the only source of light in the room, then subsequently turned it off and rolled over, away from him. "Good night, Sammy."

"_Dean_—"

"I said good_night_." He didn't want to deal with it. Didn't want to face those sympathetic eyes of Sam's that bore down on his soul, made him feel lower than he already did. He couldn't take it. Dean shut his eyes against the dark of the motel room, as if it'd somehow hide him from everything he refused to face. But he knew he wouldn't be able to run away. Sam's sudden presence at his back all but guaranteed that.

He had a hand on Dean's shoulder and was trying to make him face him, "Dean…"

"Get offa me, Sam." but no, of course he didn't let go. Instead, Sam pulled harder and successfully got Dean flat on his back long enough to press their lips together in a rough kiss. Dean struggled out of it, "_Sam_," but he wasn't having any of that either, and held Dean's wrists firmly at the sides of his head, then went back to kissing his older brother deeply and passionately until they were both out of breath and panting.

Dean's mind was getting foggy then, a familiar tightness already growing in his pants, but Sam made no move to relieve it. He started kissing lightly at Dean's neck, the small areas of his collar bone showing through the hole of his shirt, keeping Dean pinned to the bed.

"This is why he did it, Dean," he said between kisses, his hot breath against his skin sending chills down Dean's spine.

"Really," he gasped a little, squirming at the light sensations in so many sensitive areas, "Really doubt that _this_ is what he sold his soul for." That earned Dean a glare and then Sam was kissing him again just to get him to shut up and listen.

"For _us_," he said against his brother's lips, "For you," nibbling at Dean's ear, "For me," kissing against the inside of Dean's wrist where he still held fast. Dean was quickly losing his mind. "So that we can keep doing what we were always meant to do."

Breathlessly, Dean replied in short gasps, not even really remembering the point of the conversation anymore, "What's, what's that?" and then Sam was above him, perfectly seated on his hips so that their cocks were pressing against each other through the fabric of their pants. Dean exhaled deeply, almost a growl, and started grinding his hips upwards as Sam looked down at him earnestly.

"Live, Dean." That froze him in place, and he started trying to find Sam's eyes in the darkness. His chest was suddenly tight and he needed that cool hazel to stop the burning in his throat. "We're fighters," Sam continued, moving his hands from around Dean's wrists to his hands and intertwining their fingers. He spoke against Dean's neck, placing more gentle kisses here and there between words, and Dean started a slow rocking again. "We were born to wage through gore and make our way through this mess of a world one bullet at a time. We were meant to live." Sam was driving Dean crazy, and the more he spoke, the longer he was kept from what he wanted.

But what did he want?

"_That_ is worth everything."

What did he want?

"_We_ are Dad's legacy." and _oh_, there it is.

He wanted his dad. He wanted his family, and he wanted home. But he had all those things, every single one of them, right in front of him. John gave everything he had and more to make sure Sam made it to this point in life. He was the only family Dean had left, and home was wherever Sam went. Home was Sam sitting in the shotgun seat of the Impala. Home was Sam sleeping next to him in a motel room in the middle of nowhere.

Sam was everything Dean wanted. Sam was everything Dean needed. And that was all.

"Sammy," he moaned a little, back arching ever so slightly when his younger brother started sucking at the hollow of his throat. A muffled hum was all he got in response, and there was no stopping the small smile that formed on his lips. "Anyone ever tell you," using the new leverage from Sam's hands being in his, he flipped him underneath him, more than pleased at his new position between Sam's legs, "you talk _way_ too much during sex."

Sam started laughing and Dean took that as an opportunity to free his hands and slide them under his brother's shirt, which changed the laughter to drawn out moan. As he lifted the shirt from Sam's chest, he mimicked the teasing kisses all along his torso and reveled in the way his little brother's breathing got harsh and ragged. He stopped his shirt around Sam's wrists and grinned down at him when he started bucking, urging him forward.

"Easy there, tiger. You got your chance to pin me down. Now it's my turn." and he used the shirt to tie Sam's hands together above his head. Sam kind of froze in disbelief.

"You can't be serious."

Dean smirked and pulled off his belt to tie the shirt to the head post, effectively restraining him, "Oh, I'm very serious. Don't worry, baby brother," he slid his hands down Sam's chest then firmly grasped his hips, "I'll take good care of you."

He kissed him much more vigorously than Sam had before and the younger man immediately started writhing against his restraints. He exhaled hotly, head tilted back, "Dean. Dean, you can't-"

"You brought this on yourself, Sammy," Dean replied between kisses along Sam's jaw, hands keeping his hips grounded on the bed so he couldn't rub against him. They were both so close to bursting through the seams, but Dean had a goal and it wasn't to finish any time soon. "You spent so much time lecturing me," kiss, suck, "So much time telling me to live," nibble, scrape, kiss, "When you should've been telling me to fuck you."

Sam started moaning and gasping and struggling and it was just about one of the hottest things Dean had ever seen. He could've taken him right then and there, but he had a goal, a purpose, and he couldn't finish until he had accomplished it. Slipping a few fingers under the elastic of his boxers, Dean slowly began to finish undressing his little brother.

"You told me to fight, Sammy." He pulled both his pants and boxers off at the same time, but slowly, agonizingly slow, and Sam started pulling against the make shift handcuffs in anticipation. "You told me to live." and then he had his hand wrapped around Sam's harder than usual cock, but gently, lightly, and the younger man was thrusting himself up and down out of sheer frustration and desire. "Well, I'm gonna live," and then he was pushing two freshly lubed fingers into Sam's ass and he groaned loudly, rocking even harder. Dean maneuvered his way back up to Sam's lips and hovered just above them while he worked to loosen his hole, "but only if you come with me."

"_Dean_," Sam begged, already at his wit's end but Dean wrapped a hand around the base of his cock to hold him back.

"Come with me, Sammy," he urged, and both of them knew that he wasn't talking about sex anymore.

"Anywhere, Dean," Sam breathed, eyes desperate and longing and suddenly the pain in Dean's chest needed more than just those hazel eyes to settle. "Everywhere." He reached up to untie him and Sam's hands immediately took their familiar place around Dean's shoulders, clinging to him. "Always."

And that was all he needed. That was all Dean wanted from life, and that made everything worth it. John's sacrifice made sense, because there wasn't anything Dean wouldn't give to keep his younger brother by his side. Because he was everything.

As long as he had Sam, Dean could live through this Hell for eternity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: **Outdoors sex, anal. Wincest. Slightly modified version of 2.22 All Hell Breaks Loose Pt. 2. The last conversation they had takes place far, far away from Bobby and Ellen, hours after killing Azazel.

Finished this way too late at night, so the end might be a bit rushed. I'm not sure. This is the unintended second chapter of this story. The idea just kinda popped into my head when I finished the other, so this story might end up being a collection of fics dealing with the boys and what they'd give for each other. Another may or may not come, I dunno. We'll see.

And as always, if you want to give me any sort of prompt for my next story, I'm always open to requests.

Enjoy.

* * *

"Pull over here."

The two hadn't said a word to each other since leaving the graveyard, and honestly, it hadn't bugged Dean too much. He was perfectly content to listen to his music too loud, drive his baby too fast, and be able to glance over every couple of seconds to see Sam riding shotgun, the only place he was ever meant to be. It was more than enough for him; it was perfect, and you wouldn't ever catch him complaining about it.

A year left till Judgment Day and every second was golden.

But the instant Sam spoke, Dean already knew where this was headed. He had been dreading it, and it was the very last conversation he wanted to have, but there was no avoiding it with Sam. Still, the words surprised him, and Dean wasn't even sure if he really heard it over the music.

"What? Why?"

"Just. Pull over, Dean. Please." and the way Sam wasn't making eye contact, just kept staring out the window, was all too telling. Dean had half the mind to do the exact opposite and drive _faster_, but he couldn't do that to his baby brother. The Impala slowed onto the gravel next to the freeway and Sam was out of the car before she even really stopped. Dean watched through the windshield as Sam took a seat on the bumper, and he didn't need to see his face to know he was upset.

"Shit," he swore under his breath, tucking his pistol into the dashboard before joining his brother on the front of the car. Sam fumbled with his hands a little before lifting his head and turning to face him.

"You know, when Jake saw me, he looked like he'd seen a ghost." Dean shook his head and looked down at his boots. For once in his life, he wished he could've been wrong about his brother. But of course, this was expected. He knew Sam too fucking well. "Bobby too, for that matter," Sam continued, unrelenting, "And I mean, you heard him. That kinda wound can't be fixed, no matter how good Bobby may be." There was a rock near Dean's foot and it was a rather large rock; he thought he'd quite like to contemplate this rock and its unusual size. Anything but this conversation. Anything but what he knew Sam was about to ask him. The rock was far more interesting, far more safe-

"Dean, did I…did I die?"

He had to look up then. He heard the tension I Sam's voice, the little inflictions that told him the cat was out of the bag and being beaten with a shoe. He shook his head again, then scooted back across the hood to lean against the windshield. Sam was undeterred ad turned around to face him, "Did you sell your soul for me?"

"_Sam_," he finally spoke, begging him, pleading, praying for anything but this.

"Did you?" Dean dropped his head in defeat, lost cause, no point in even trying. Sam let out a weak little exhale and Dean didn't have to see his face, didn't have to look. He knew. "How long do you get?"

"…a year. I got one year." Another small gasp, and Dean's heart was fucking breaking. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be judged, didn't want to be looked down on like this. All he wanted was his brother.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"The hell else was I supposed to do, Sammy? Huh? Just keep going without you? No. Screw that. I did it, and I'd do it again if I had to." If Sam could be cold and unforgiving, Dean could too. He didn't regret his choice, not in the least. Sam could take a swing at him, curse his name to the high Heavens, whatever he wanted. Dean didn't care, as long as he was alive to do it. But he didn't do any of those things. He didn't yell or scream or berate Dean at all.

Instead, Sam pulled himself into Dean's lap, straddling his hips to face him with two fists balled in his jacket. It caught him off guard, and he didn't understand. He couldn't figure out what Sam was thinking and couldn't see his face to find out. Sam's head was bowed, eyes concealed by his hair, and Dean didn't know how to react.

"What about me? What am _I_ supposed to do?" His voice was quiet and terse and it tore at Dean in ways that were so unfair and cruel and _fuck_, he did this to his brother.

"Sam…"

He kissed him then, using his grip on Dean's jacket to pull him closer, and Dean was once again caught off guard. His hands sat uselessly at his sides while their lips meshed together, lost as to what he was supposed to do. When Sam finally broke off the kiss, he bowed his head again but didn't let go of his tighter grip.

"You're my big brother. I need you, Dean." and only then was it that Dean realized Sam was crying. He wasn't sobbing or bawling like a baby, just quietly, cleanly, and somehow that hurt more. He finally was coherent enough to think of comforting Sam but he beat him to the punch by pulling him into yet another kiss. But this one was different; it was hungry, and desperate and longing and so passionate it made Dean's heart throb. Their lips pulled apart but Sam didn't stop, merely moved from Dean's lips to the line of his jaw to the hollow of his throat, kissing and sucking and licking. Dean's hands took hold of Sam's hips above his while the younger man did terribly amazing things to the sensitive skin in his neck.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," he breathed, pulling off Dean's jacket then sliding his hands into his shirt. Dean let out a moan and rested his head back on the glass window, glad they were in the middle of nowhere at ungodly hours of the night because nothing was going to stop them out here. "And I don't care what it takes," he lifted his shirt off, then kissed him again, "I'm gonna get you out of this."

"Sammy," Dean breathed, completely hard and bursting at the seams. Sam pulled off his own jacket and he helped him out of his shirt just as he went back to work leaving marks all over Dean's chest.

"I know," he mumbled, lifting onto his knees long enough for Dean to pull a small tube from his pants pocket. It was difficult to manage while on the hood of the car but they didn't care enough to crawl into the backseat and certainly weren't patient enough to make it to a motel. They'd make do with this space, and that was fine. Dean was almost one hundred percent sure his baby was gonna have a dent in her hood after this, but he could give Sam shit about it later. At that moment, all he wanted was Sam and all Sam wanted was him, and that was enough.

That was enough.

It was awkward and took a lot of maneuvering, during which Sam almost fell off the car and got both of them laughing between kisses, but they finally got Sam's pants off and then he was sitting naked on Dean's lap. One of his hands was curled around Dean's cock, the other bracing himself against the frame of the car as Dean worked one, two, three fingers into Sam's ass. The night air was heightening each sensation to impossible levels and it was more than way too much for both of them. Finally, after what seemed like millennia, Dean pulled his fingers out and Sam positioned himself above his brother's cock, easing down onto it slowly with a gasp.

"You okay?" Dean asked huskily, one hand firmly on Sam's hip while the other drew soothing circles on the small of his back. Sam's eyes were closed, lips parted just a little while he took in heavy breathes, and Dean idly thought that he could spend his entire last year just watching this sight before him.

"Yeah," Sam nodded slightly, resting his forehead against Dean's shoulder for a second, "More than okay." He lifted himself up to the head of Dean's cock, then sat back down quickly and roughly, earning a low growl from Dean's lips. Sam smiled and whispered against his neck, "I'm perfect."

And then he started moving and grinding and the air around them was no longer cold but heated by their loud and pleasure filled gasps and moans. Sam's thighs grew weak just as he almost came to his climax but Dean helped him along by cupping both hands under his cheeks and lifting him and pulling him back down and holy mother of mercy, it felt _amazing_.

It didn't matter what the demon had asked for; if she had given Dean ten days to live with Sam, that would've been enough. Because that moment, there with him in his arms, moaning his name and bucking against him, made all of it worth it. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the car, letting his orgasm build in the pit of his stomach. He didn't need to see Sam's face to know that he was close, because they both were and he knew. He knew exactly what Sam was thinking.

Or so he thought.

If he had opened his eyes, he would've seen Sam crying again. Still soundlessly, merely tears rolling down his cheeks than cries to the Heavens, but they were there. Just before they both came, he barely managed to get out the words "I need you, Dean." It snapped his eyes back open again, just as Sam threw his head back and came, just as Dean came inside him, and then Sam's head was back on his shoulder. Dean could feel the tears roll down chest and he wrapped his arms around his brother because it was the only thing he could think to do.

"I need you, Dean."

"I know, Sammy."

"I'm not gonna let you go to Hell. I can't. I'm gonna save you."

Every part of Dean knew that he wouldn't, that he couldn't, because then he would drop dead again, but Sam was crying and Sam was so sure and Sam needed this right now. A year left, and all he could think about was how much he needed Sam. And if it was what Sam needed, it was what he would give him.

Even though he knew it wasn't true.

"I know."


End file.
